


Drilling my way deeper in your head

by xephyr



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Other, Tentacles, Xenophilia, mild dubcon, pretty much exactly what it says on the tin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr
Summary: There's a split second between these two scenes and you know what, anything could have happened. Yeah, even this.





	Drilling my way deeper in your head

Newton Geiszler knows he's fucked the second he hears and feels the first heavy kaiju footstep reverberating through the shelter he and several hundred other people are huddled together in. He realizes suddenly that racing to this shitty underground shelter in the ass end of Kowloon was probably the stupidest thing he could have done. The doors are inaccessible from where he is and he's positive they're over capacity. There are so, so many fire hazards not being observed right now. Another step follows the first, and it sounds much closer than the first one had been. Everyone around him has gone completely silent, and Newt can practically smell their fear in the damp shared air. Once the next step reverberates through the walls-- it has to be over twenty hundred tons of muscle, easy, to have a footstep that heavy-- Newt feels his resolve crumble. He shouldn't be here. Fuck, it was exactly what Hannibal had said. He repeats in his head over and over as someone to his left passes out in the cold mud. _Maybe those Kaiju are trying to find you._

He knows they are, now. There's no doubt about it. He even announces it out loud, for whatever reason. Hey, fear makes you do stupid shit sometimes, give him a break. People are immediately shoving him away from them like he's a goddamn leper and he loses his footing, stumbling into the mud and losing his glasses along the way. Fuck, shit, he can't see anything without his glasses. As his fingers grasp blindly across the ground for his sweet frames, he realizes it doesn't even matter. It didn't matter how cool he thought his glasses were or how much he liked how Hermann _hated_ them because he was never going to get out of this alive. He falters for a moment before searching for them again with renewed vigor. If he was going to die, he decided, he wanted to be able to see how. He didn't want to spend his afterlife lamenting over the goddamn blurry spot of his life that was his death. If he was dying, he was going to experience it in full 1080p.

When one of his hands happen to land on them, a final step sounds directly above him. He knows it's the final step because they've found him, she's found him, and he doesn't have time to wonder about why and how his mind had settled on _she_ for the kaiju that's about to kill him because the roof collapses in front of him with a sickening crunch. His hands are shaking so violently that he can hardly even put his glasses on and when he finally manages to, he realizes one of the lens is shattered. He's not mad, though, because Otachi is looking right at him. He blinks, and for a second he sees himself on his knees in the mud, trembling in fear. He blinks again, and it's gone.

Otachi opens her wide maw and a bioluminescent tongue slithers out with as much grace as a fucking Russian ballet dancer. Unlike a ballet dancer, however, he gets the distinct sense that the kaiju actually sees him and is making a note of his presence. It's a fucking weird time to be reliving this particular hangup from college, but it is for whatever reason the first thing that comes to mind. Otachi-- that's her name, he realizes-- swirls her tongue around him, opening it up to allow smaller tendrils to dance around his shaking form. Suddenly, he sees something else. A dying sun, bridges made out of bone and structures stretching out to the farthest corners of the horizon, skies in a color he can't even recognize as being on the spectrum, and before he can even pretend he understands any of it, Otachi is turning away. He can't explain the distinct feeling of loss and the frantic helplessness that runs through his veins as she moves to leave him. _You can't just fucking leave me like this you bitch, you can't--_

Her tail darts into the ruined shelter, wrapping its pincers around him. He doesn't have time to scream as she pulls him out, dragging him along the rough and cracked cement, which scrapes him up marvelously. She's going to eat him, he thinks. No, she's taking him… somewhere. Somewhere. Her pincers are clasped tightly around his midsection and if she squeezes any tighter he knows his lungs will explode and he keeps expecting it to happen, but it doesn't. It's not like he could do anything about it. It's Otachi’s world, baby, and he's just living in it.

He still can't scream, even though he wishes he could. Her grip on him is too tight as she pulls him through the now empty Hong Kong, which is harrowing to observe even from his upside down view. Streets that are always bustling with business and foot traffic and homeless people and prostitutes and farmers and fucking _whatever_ are completely empty, cars upturned and storefronts smashed in. He's sure there are bodies in there somewhere because not everyone is fast enough and not everyone is strong enough to get to the shelters (He thinks momentarily about how someone like Hermann would have fared out here. People would have taken his cane and beaten him over the head with it and left him to die on the streets) but he tries not to think too hard about it. He thinks instead about there here and now, like where the hell she's taking him, and what the hell is going to happen to him once she gets there.

__

__

There's a plan. He doesn't know what it is, and it scares the shit out of him.

He’s tossed somewhat unceremoniously into an intersection. He can’t read the street names from where he’s hurtling along the sidewalk and the momentum throws him into the side of a empty truck. It isn’t enough to make him pass out, but it’s more than enough to momentarily take the breath out of his lungs. His ears are ringing and once he regains his balance they’re _still ringing_ and for a moment he’s scared he’s gone deaf until he realizes it’s the sound of hundreds of thousands of car alarms going off around him from the fight that the kaiju and the jaegers are engaged in. The rain steadily falls around him and his busted glasses fog up again with condensation. It’s a minor grievance, all things considered, but it still sucks.

He jerks his head back to see where he even is and where Otachi is because he’s somehow lost sight of her and he’s alone, shaking and wet in the middle of a once very busy and precarious intersection that’s been turned into a veritable graveyard.

Otachi is right there, of course. She couldn’t have gone anywhere far, anyway. Well, she _could_ have, obviously, with how strong and lean and muscular she is, because she could do anything, but she didn’t. She’s here with him, and for some insane reason he feels like he’s special. He’s scared shitless, but there’s that little thought in the back of his head that is absolutely cheering this whole situation on because he’s finally being _accepted_ in the way he never has been before no matter how goddamn hard he tried.

It’s a stupid thought. Really, really stupid.

She’s looking right at him and he backs up blindly. She takes one step towards him and he’s barreling himself over car hoods and weaving between gridlock traffic that will forever remain at a standstill until he can’t go any further and he’s up against the doors of some insurance company, walled up on either side. He could try climbing, but his feet feel like they’ve cemented to the spot and he’s stuck where he is. He’d always known that the human body could do some pretty crazy things in times of great stress and danger and perform feats of strength that people never thought they previously could, but it turned out he wasn’t one of those people who could harness their fear. The best he could do, apparently, was try not to cry. And shit, even that wasn’t working out so well for him.

He blinks and sees himself through her eyes, through _Their_ eyes, frail and weak and brimming with tears (Come on, dude. Get it together), eyes wide as he looks up at her with fear and awe and respect. _You were chosen for this_ is a thought that’s thrust into his head without his permission as if he hadn’t even had the original thought himself and it had been planted there. Otachi’s face comes into view again, superimposed on top of the image of his own wet eyes staring at him (at _her_ ) in a disorienting flurry of moments until he can get his bearings back and remember who he is and remember that _he_ is the one that’s small and insignificant and made out of _human flesh_ and Otachi is the one that’s a twenty-six hundred ton genetically engineered biological weapon of warfare.

Her mouth opens again and that terrifyingly beautiful tongue enters his field of vision for the second time tonight. Ok, yeah, he's getting eaten.

But then he isn't.

The little tendrils wrap around his legs and he's being hauled up into the air, dangling upside down (again) except this time, tendrils are slipping somewhat uncomfortably close to his ass. That makes his racing mind slam to a halt so fast that he swears he almost got whiplash. They're not exactly fondling him, but it's close enough to where his stupid idiotic brain immediately pulls up archives and images of things he's shamefully kept filed away for years and he wonders, fuck, is this really happening? He's a been a member (Not an active one, mind you) of countless anime image boards across the years, and not all of them have been decent. Actually, almost none of them had been. There was the one where he and other scientists had discussed the janky engineering involved in--

Ok, that's not what he's going to focus on right now. Some of the even smaller tendrils are determinedly peeling off his tight jeans and yeah, this is happening. At the very least he's lucky that he's upside down because his blood is having a very hard time deciding whether or not to flow into his now throbbing head or, well, the other one. His glasses slip off his face as he dangles there and from how high up off the ground he is, he knows they're toast. For a hysterical moment he thinks about how the phone call with the optometrist would even go when he got back to the Shatterdome. _Hey, I need a replacement on my glasses because I lost my last pair when I was getting fucked by an inch of my life by a category IV kaiju. Yes, I'll hold._

It's a stupid thought not only because he's accepted that this is what's happening to him, but also because he somehow thinks he's getting out of this alive. Bioluminescent tendrils spread his legs out further and he whimpers.

“I don't know what you're trying to do here, but I think-- I know there probably better methods for this.” His voice is shrill, and he doesn't even know why he's bothering. It's not like she understands him and even if she did, it's not like she would pay him any mind because she'd much rather tune the sound of his voice out and continue what she's doing. Ok, maybe the kaiju are more similar to humans than he originally thought. 

He's sure he's about to blackout from the pressure behind his temples from being upside down for so long until Otachi flips him right side up, either because she could sense that he was fading or because They simply wanted a different angle. _They._ The precursors were absolutely seeing all of this. They probably even initiated it. He can't think of a single reason why They would have ordered this, but he has a distinct vision in his head of all the precursors gathered around their interdimensional television with the anteverse equivalent of popcorn being shoved into their mouths as they watch the show unfold before them. Ok, that probably wasn't actually happening, but maybe it was. The first tendril breaches him far more easily than he had anticipated, slimy and _cold_ and pulsing, probably aided by whatever toxic and no doubt dangerous component is in Otachi’s saliva, and he loses it. He never had it to begin with, but he feels the tears flowing a lot easier than they had been not even a minute ago.

Without really any preamble, another one joins the first, and he physically can't stop the desperate whine that rips itself from his throat. For an instant he can see himself from Otachi’s point of view, and it's probably one of the most pathetic things he's ever seen. He sees himself suspended in mid air with his pants and underwear bunched up at his knees, shaking and trembling with his eyes resolutely squeezed shut. There are parts of her tongue forcing their way into his ass, but the worst part has got to be the fact that he has a very obvious hard-on. Fuck, there was no way he was getting off on this. No fucking way in hell. The image of himself disappeared behind his eyelids and as she edged her way in deeper, he gripped his dick, trying to ignore how it jumped in his palm at the first contact. Fuck, whatever, maybe he is pathetic.

He wonders how far they'll go. It's not like the kaiju know or care about where his colon begins and how far you can go without causing damage. For all he knows it'll all be over in a second and he'll see the tip of one of the tendrils that had wormed its way inside of him break through his stomach. He grips himself tighter, pulling at his dick like the goddamn animal he apparently is.

A third tendril plays at his entrance, and Newt blows his load right there. He's shouting obscenities as he does, throwing his head back as his shameful orgasm--the best one he's ever had in his life-- tears through him, getting a mess on his hand, his shirt, and falling somewhere onto the pavement below in some disgusting display. Oh, this is nasty. He sees himself again, completely wrecked and splattered with his own come and tears streaming down his face and he can't find it in himself to bite back the ugly sob that forces its way through him.

A horn goes off in the distance and his blood goes ice cold in his veins. Otachi, apparently now over him (Fuck, come on, _really--_ ) lowers him halfway to the ground before releasing her grip on him altogether, pulling the tendrils out of him faster than he would have liked and dropping him the rest of the way down. He only falls for a couple feet but he lands heavily on his hands and knees, flopping uselessly onto his side as he tries to get his breath and heart rate under control. The horn sounds again, closer this time, and Otachi has already strode off into the distance to meet whatever it is head on. It's the jaegers, he knows. God, they'll save us, but they'll hurt her, and They'll be mad, but the jaegers will save us all.

He rolls onto his back and one of his hands makes contact with his glasses and he doesn’t bother thanking God or thinking about the probability of them still even being here in (mostly) one piece because he doesn’t know if he even can, after that. He drops them onto his face and stares up at the cloudy sky with one good eye and the other one a fractalized mess because of how the lens had shattered as the rain continues to fall on his bruised body, but it doesn't hurt him. It’s just rain, so it can’t hurt him, anyway. Absently he realizes his pants are still stuck halfway down his thighs but he can’t find it in himself to care.

As he hears the epic brawl between machine and monster taking place many leagues to his right, he realizes this is the most centered he’s ever felt. He doesn’t feel like he’s tearing apart at the seams, and that _should_ scare him, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because now he knows exactly what he has to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Otachi shoots out acid like 3 minutes before this but let's just pretend for a second that it's not that big of a deal.


End file.
